DS9 Season 10, ep 10x18 - "The Calling"

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by lvsxy808, May 1, 2012.

  1. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001
    Previously, on DS9 Season 10:

    Review threads:

    Episodes 1 to 7
    Episode 8
    Episode 9
    Episode 10
    Episode 11
    Episode 12
    Episode 13
    Episode 14
    Episode 15
    Episode 16
    Episode 17

    Direct links to the PDFs of episodes 1 to 17:

    10x01 - "Emancipation"
    10x02 - "Brave New World"
    10x03 - "Steppin' Out"
    10x04 - "Easy Come, Easy Go"
    10x05 - "Deep Down"
    10x06 - "The Dream Box"
    10x07 - "Instinct"
    10x08 - "Property Values"
    10x09 - "Blank Slate"
    10x10 - "In Two Minds"
    10x11 - "Harmony" (part 1 of 2)
    10x12 - "Heresy" (part 2 of 2)
    10x13 - "The Case of the Flamping Flurble"
    10x14 - "Against the Odds"
    10x15 - "Inside Out"
    10x16 - "I Will Survive"
    10x17 - "Reservoir Ferengi"

    All episodes are also available at the Ad Astra fan-fic archives, link here.

    Next up is 10x18 - "The Calling"

    Similar to the previous episode, this is of course also an already officially published story, Andrew J Robinson's direct sequel to the rightly lauded A Stitch in Time (which I had previously adapted as part of season 8). Again, I chose to adapt an existing story because it fit my plans for the season perfectly. In fact, much of the Cardassian storyline over the entire season has been written with the knowledge that I was coming to this point.

    This is also the reason why I chose to upload two stories at once just this time - because they are both adaptations of existing stories rather than new works, and therefore it wouldn't be fair to ask readers to wait again to read something they may well have already read.

    When this story was first released, I think it confused some readers. I have tweaked a few small aspects, hopefully made some things clearer. I also dug in and found the way in which this story slots seamlessly in with the larger developing arc of the season, as you'll see in the final act.

    Unlike with "Reservoir Ferengi," I do not have official permission to upload this story, mostly because I do not have the ability to ask for that permission. The same caveat applies: I lay no claim to the original storyline, dialogue or scene descriptions, which come almost entirely from Andrew's story and are his intellectual property. If anyone objects to my uploading this, please tell me and I will happily remove it with apologies. No offence is intended. I also heartily recommend that everyone buy the book in which "The Calling" first appears - the excellent DS9 collection Prophecy and Change, available here.

    All that said, onto the episode. As usual the PDF can also be downloaded here.


  2. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:


    Open on the station’s infirmary, dim and quiet. It’s night shift, and the only person around is a CLEANER polishing the floor with a beam of light from a large and clumsy device. We don’t even need to see the Cleaner’s face – that’s not the point. As he or she goes about their work...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    My dear Doctor... I have had to
    send this communication through
    a rather circuitous route to
    prevent it from being exposed
    to anyone but you. If some
    unfortunate soul does manage to
    get his hands on this, it’ll be
    the last thing he’ll ever hold. ​

    We move gradually around the room, observing the bio-beds, the instruments, the surgical suite, the pharmacy.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    All this sounds extreme, I know.
    But I assure you, I’m not simply
    sending a poison pen letter
    because I got up on the wrong
    side of the bed this morning.
    I count myself fortunate to
    have gotten out of bed at all.
    But more about that later. ​

    The Cleaner moves on to casting the light over the walls, removing grime from simple wear and tear.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Despite the fact that you have
    disappeared without a word, I’m
    hopeful you’re still alive. And
    though I know you wouldn’t
    abandon me without good reason,
    I have to admit I’m a little
    piqued. The last time we met,
    you promised you would be there
    to help me. And yet you are
    nowhere to be found. ​

    The cleaner moves to the CMO’s desk, upon which a padd sits. He or she begins polishing the surfaces with a cloth.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    It’s not a question of blame,
    Doctor. Such a childish word.
    No, it’s about responsibility.
    If one is encouraged by a dear
    friend to take on a dangerous,
    indeed life-changing course of
    action, and is promised support
    for this action, how is one to
    react when that dear friend and
    his promised support vanish? ​


    Garak’s vision of the cocktail party in the Ward Room, hazy and strange. Everyone is happy, smiling, mingling in peace and companionship. Bashir pushes forward out of the crowd and embraces Garak like a long-lost friend.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    There are those who have tried
    to convince me our encounter in
    the Vinculum was nothing more
    than a dream I had. ​

    3 FLASHBACK – 10x11 “HARMONY”

    Garak sits inside his shack, looking out at the devastation outside with depression and doubt. The Cardassian doctor Parmak is in the doorway, trying to buck him up.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Doctor Parmak among them. ​


    At the cocktail party, Garak watches the mingling figures, curious, intrigued.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I can’t fault him for it. If one
    has never been in the Vinculum,
    one can never understand a place
    where past, present and future
    combine. Where the neat lines we
    draw between dream and reality,
    between the living and the dead,
    have no more meaning than spices
    in a karalian stew. I don’t claim
    to know the how and why. But I
    believe it was you I encountered
    in that place. And that’s why
    I’m writing to you now. ​


    Doctor Parmak’s isolation room. Ferric lies dying on the bed. Ekosha sits by the side, praying over him.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    When I came to the Vinculum, I
    was a man on an errand. To find
    a cure or vaccine to the virus
    we had unwittingly unleashed
    upon ourselves by opening the
    Hebitian ruins at Gardat. You
    gave me that cure, Doctor...
    and something more. ​


    After the vision, Garak walks back up the hill into the light, with the answer to his questions.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    So when I left the Vinculum, I
    was a man on a mission. I was
    determined to step out of the
    shadows as you advised me, and
    guide Cardassia back to the
    light of civilization. ​

    7 FLASHBACK – 10x11 “HARMONY”

    Garak gazes out of his shed to the destroyed memorial in which it sits...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    But that light faded. The harsh
    reality of trying to bring order
    out of Cardassian chaos brought
    me back to the Vinculum on two
    further occasions. But I found no
    healing or relief. No Federation
    support... and no Doctor Bashir. ​


    Back to the Infirmary. The cleaner polishes the surfaces... and knocks the padd off the top. They lean down to pick it up, and as they place it back on the surface, we focus on its screen... which shows a headshot of GARAK.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Whatever has happened to you,
    my friend, my fervent hope is
    that this communication will
    find its way to you one way
    or another. ​

    The cleaner moves off to carry on their work, giving the padd no more thought. But we continue to slowly close in on the padd and its image of Garak.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    But I still wonder... where
    are you, Doctor? ​



  3. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:

    9 ON GARAK

    As he stands, gazing out across his view. His face hangs slack, energy-less. He seems empty, emotionally hopeless. As grey and colourless as the clouded sky behind him.

    WIDEN to reveal...


    The large public square where we have seen meetings and rallies held before. Garak stands on a small stage at the front, a microphone stand before him. He stares out at the gathering crowd of Cardassians that is slowly filling the broken, rubble-strewn space. As he watches...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    They came from all over Cardassia. ​

    Focusing on one group, wearing worn and scuffed leather working clothes...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    The Sabutahim, callused and
    sturdy farmers from across
    the southern provinces. ​

    Garak’s emotionless gaze shifts to another group, thin and wiry, malnourished but maintaining their pride.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    The gaunt and ghostly Kasmoc,
    herders and breeders from the north. ​

    Moving to a third group...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Ragged, half-mad fundamentalists
    from Lakarian City, rebuilding
    among the Hebitian ruins in a
    desperate attempt to return to
    simpler times. ​

    And a final group, standing tall and proud in the nearest things they can find to a uniform. They are determined to act like they’re in charge, whatever the reality.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    And of course, those die-hard
    Imperialists, the base support
    of the Directorate, from their
    protected enclaves in Rogarin. ​

    As Garak stares out from his podium...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    All survivors. Exhausted from
    the death and destruction. Or
    demented by loss and grief,
    looking for a scapegoat for
    their rage. Since the failure
    of the Reunion Project to build
    a Cardassian democracy, our
    world has divided itself into
    countless tribes, each one
    ferociously defending the tiny
    borders of its pathetic realm. ​

    Suddenly a voice raises in panic and fear.

    No! No! Stop! He’s blind! ​

    Garak turns to his right, and sees a WOMAN trying to defend an older man as two younger men beat him with fists.

    He fought against us at Begata! ​

    (between punches)
    And I’d do it again! ​

    Doctor PARMAK stands off to the side of the stage. He directs two of the dozen or so military OFFICERS, who had been guarding the stage, to move into the crowd and try to stop the fight. Meanwhile, Garak watches blankly. He can’t seem to muster the energy to care.

    Garak finally speaks. Not any great speech, more as if he’s thinking out loud and the mic just happens to be there.

    I wonder... what would happen
    if we all went blind. ​

    The crowd stops a little, realising he’s spoken.

    What? ... What did he say? ...
    Quiet! ... Listen...​

    How do they exact revenge in
    the land of the blind? What
    do they take next? ​

    You take until there’s nothing left! ​

    “Until there’s nothing left.”
    Then let me ask you this. Let me
    ask you all – how do they exact
    revenge in the land of the dead? ​

    For the first time, the crowd has no response. In the quiet, the mournful call of a bird echoes across the sky.

    If there’s nothing left, how
    do we go on? ​

    As Garak continues to gaze out, and the gathered crowd considers his question...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    It has been six months since
    Alon Ghemor was assassinated,
    and since then, nearly as many
    have died from the fighting
    and the plague as did during
    the Dominion occupation. ​

    11 INT. CLINIC

    A run-down room, tent or warehouse. It’s being used as a makeshift medical centre. Nothing too technologically advanced – just a case of downtrodden Cardassians standing in line to receive cursory medical checks and injections.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Parmak has done excellent work
    taking the data you gave me
    and turning it into a vaccine
    to stem the tide of the disease.
    Now it’s only a matter of us
    getting to the people before
    the disease does. ​

    One line of patients moves on, rubbing the skin of their arms, injections given. The next line moves up to take their turn with the exhausted clinic workers.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    And still, one in three die in
    agony. A pitiful few actually
    recover from the infection. I
    imagine they wish they hadn’t. ​


    The crowd gathering in the square. To one side, there’s a group of Cardassians gathered on their own. No-one else wants to stand near them. They’re wearing heavy cloaks that completely hide their features.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    How brave of these people to
    come here today. To risk the
    resentment and fear of the
    others, just to hear me speak. ​

    CUT TO:

    13 INT. CLINIC

    What!... do you think you’re
    doing, Ereket? ​

    One of the Cardassian nurses, a young male named EREKET, jerks in fear at the knife-edge in Garak’s voice. He was preparing to inject an older man, CRONAL, with the vaccine. But he stops as Garak stalks over to him. The lines of people waiting for their turn stretch off to the distance.

    Excuse me, Docent? ​

    These people need the vaccine.
    They don’t need to be impressed
    by your wisdom and expertise. ​

    But Docent, I was just trying to
    explain – ​

    Administer the drug as you’ve
    been taught. We have to finish
    this group before we lose the
    light. Do you understand? ​

    Garak is being harsher here than the situation really calls for. His nerves are obviously frayed. Ereket flushes with shame at being yelled at, and gets back to work.

    Yes, Docent. ​

    The older patient, Cronal, has been watching Garak closely all this time, much more interested in him than Ereket’s procedure. Garak moves on. Cronal’s eyes follow him.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    To correct the behaviour of a
    small man like Ereket was a
    momentary distraction. But if
    my peers and those in positions
    of real, actual power should
    need correction... ​

    Excuse me - Elim Garak? ​

    Distracted by his own thoughts, Garak hadn’t noticed Cronal approaching him. Now Garak turns to him, and something in the old man’s intense gaze puts Garak on his alert.

    Yes? ​

    My name is Cronal Gys. I want
    to thank you for the good work
    you’ve been doing here... and
    elsewhere. ​

    Thank you. And I apologise for
    the behaviour of – ​

    No no, not at all. He’s young,
    he has to learn how to work.
    Unfortunately all the schools
    these days are real life. ​

    You’re very kind. ​

    Garak isn’t sure what to make of this man, the clear eyes that never stop looking at him, measuring him.

    Your work has a particular
    significance for some of us
    here in Lakarian City. ​

    My... work? ​

    I think I can help you find
    the person you’re looking for. ​

    Garak stops, his eyes going wide in shock and amazement.


    14 FLASHBACK – 10x11 “HARMONY”

    Garak gazes out of his shed to the destroyed memorial in which it sits. He has the padd O’Brien gave him, that contains the instructions of how to access the Vinculum.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    You see, Doctor, on those other
    times I went to the Vinculum,
    searching for you, the times you
    were not present as promised...
    others did appear to me. ​


    The Tarlak Grounds as they used to look many years ago. A rare park of green grass and colourful flowers among the grey of the city. Garak sits on a bench with his secret love, PALANDINE. On the grass before them, Palandine’s young daughter NEL plays happily to herself.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I was young again, enjoying
    my secret assignations with
    another man’s wife. Palandine,
    the woman who had held my
    attention since childhood. ​

    Then we blend into NEW FOOTAGE...

    ...as a shadow passes over the scene. The bright sun turns to darkness, only the light of the Blind Moon to see by. At first Garak cannot see Palandine in the dark. But then she leans slowly forward into the light...

    ...and reveals a disfigured face, a horror mask burned and warped by the disease. Garak recoils in fear...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I tried to believe that her
    disfigured appearance in the
    Vinculum was a hallucination.
    Just as Parmak had tried to
    convince me you were. But I
    couldn’t deny that she was
    not the only dead soul I had
    encountered in that place. ​

    Careful, Elim. Your enemies are
    looking for a way to hurt you. ​

    How? ​

    In answer, the disfigured Palandine turns to look at the child playing at their feet. Garak looks at Nel too... and as they watch, the young girl slowly fades from view.

    Nel? They’ll kill Nel? ​

    You will kill her. In revenge
    against Barkan. Or so it will


    The moment where Garak and Barkan struggle to the death in a military interrogation room.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Barkan. He and Palandine used
    me, then betrayed me. I killed
    him. And now they were going
    to discredit me by claiming I
    had killed his daughter too. ​


    Present. From his position on the stage, Garak glances over to the gathered Imperialists, standing smug and superior.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Idiots. Didn’t they know by now
    that if I had wanted anyone
    killed, no-one would have ever
    found the evidence to prove it?
    But no-one ever needed proof of
    a thing to believe it was true.
    I promised Palandine I would
    search for Nel. Protect her. ​

    18 INT. CLINIC

    All of the above goes through Garak’s mind as he processes what Cronal has said to him.

    When it’s convenient for you,
    you can meet me in the grounds
    adjacent to the Citadel. I’m
    sure I don’t have to tell you
    how delicate the situation is. ​

    With that, Cronal turns and walks away. Confused and thrown off guard, Garak calls after him.

    It won’t take me long to finish
    up here. ​

    (walking away)
    I’ll be there. ​

    And then the old man is gone. Garak watches the lines of waiting patients shuffle forward a step at a time for their treatments. He has other things on his mind.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Only when he was gone did I
    think to wonder how he knew I
    was looking for Nel at all. I
    hadn’t yet had the chance to
    enquire about her in Lakarian. ​

    Still thinking, worried, Garak turns away and goes back to his work. As he potters around, guiding and instructing the nurses, comforting the patients...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    When I returned from the Vinculum
    that third time, I took what
    opportunities I could to look for
    her, as I had promised Palandine
    I would. Always making sure to do
    so discreetly, of course, so as
    not to raise the alarms of these
    hidden enemies. ​


    The secret Oralian Way room, hidden away in a basement. The walls are painted in a frieze depicting the lives of the Hebitians, and Nel herself stands on the dais at the front.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    The Oralian Temple in Cardassia
    City where she had performed her
    duties as Guide had disappeared
    without a trace. And there was
    really no-one else I could ask. ​

    20 INT. CLINIC

    The rows of dishevelled, downtrodden Cardassians continue to plod forward a step at a time. Garak continues to guide the nurses and comfort the patients.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I knew Lakarian was a stronghold
    of what was left of the Oralian
    Way, so I purposely volunteered
    for the mission so that I could
    make enquiries as time allowed.
    Somehow this man Cronal had
    anticipated my intentions. ​

    Garak looks back over his shoulder, in the direction Cronal had left...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    But how? How did he know? ​



  4. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:


    Very dark, since there is little in the way of artificial light. A large and imposing building, like a mansion or castle, looms in the darkness, crumbling from damage and disuse. Surrounding it are sparse and crabby attempts at grass, again blasted and ruined by fire and destruction.

    Garak stands in the even darker shadow of one of the few remaining trees. He looks up at one of the towers of the Citadel, pondering whether to emerge from hiding.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Before Cardassia City was built
    to be a more appropriate seat of
    power for the empire, Lakarian
    served the role of centralizing
    planetary government in a more
    subtle and aesthetic manner. Many
    of the buildings dated back to
    the early Republic, and there
    were even Hebitian ruins that had
    somehow survived the almost total
    eradication of that culture. The
    old Republican Citadel was one
    such, itself partly constructed
    from the ancient volcanic rock
    the Hebitians used to build with.
    I couldn’t think of a more
    suitable place to conceal the
    remnants of the Oralian Way. ​

    Finally, Garak steps forward out of the deepest shadow of the tree, and towards the stone walls of the Citadel.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    But was that really what was
    going on here? Or had I just
    walked, willingly and innocent
    as a child, into an elaborate
    trap? Damn it, Elim – has your
    caution and common sense died
    along with everything else? ​

    Garak gently, reverently lays a hand on the stone of the Citadel’s walls.

    CRONAL (o.s.)
    The first people also touched that. ​

    Garak looks to the side – Cronal stands in the shadow of another tree, just as he himself had. He’s been there all along. Garak isn’t surprised - it fits the situation.

    It has an almost plasmic quality. ​

    We’ll never find a better
    building material. ​

    Why wasn’t it used for everything? ​

    It’s not as imperial looking as
    obsidian stone from the Toran
    mountains. ​

    But that’s on the other side of
    the planet. ​

    Yes, but they had plenty of...
    expendable labour.
    Please, Elim Garak, come with me. ​

    Cronal emerges from the shadows and begins to lead Garak through the grounds, around the building.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    The gardener in me wanted to stop
    and study what was left of the
    plantings. It would take time to
    restore the soil, but it could be
    done, and well worth the effort. ​


    Cronal leads Garak through dark, beaten down city streets. Buildings jammed together in cramped, hive-like fashion. Despite the many buildings, the streets are deserted.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Of course. They wouldn’t hide in
    the Citadel itself. If I knew
    that was the obvious place,
    others could figure it out just
    as easily. Honestly, Elim, you
    really are losing your touch. ​

    Cronal notices Garak’s glances around at the dead streets.

    The plague was especially cruel
    here. Almost no-one remains...
    except, of course, for those
    who have no choice. ​

    The dead. ​

    Not just the dead. ​

    Cronal stops at a door that looks just like all the others. They cross the threshold, there’s a HUM and Garak shivers – he’s just passed through a forcefield of some kind.

    Cronal goes to another door among many – the door opens as they approach, despite there having been no signal. Garak gasps slightly as he sees who is there – NEL. She smiles at him openly, no artifice or judgement.


    Elim Garak. Please. Come in.
    We’ve been waiting for you. ​

    Garak and Cronal both enter the room, and Nel closes the door behind them.


    The room is small and dark, empty and bare except for half a dozen low stools. The walls and floor are built of the same volcanic rock as the Citadel, which almost seems to flow and move in a visual illusion, forming shapes which dissolve again before they can be identified. Garak, Cronal and Nel all take seats.

    You’ve become an Oralian Guide. ​

    When it’s not a danger to others.
    It’s difficult for people to
    gather and celebrate the Fates. ​

    That’s my fault, isn’t it? You’re
    being caught up in a stratagem
    that’s directed against me. ​

    What a strange man you are, Elim
    Garak. I assure you, you don’t
    have to take responsibility for
    our problems. You have plenty
    of your own. ​

    But I was under the impression – ​

    I know. But even if you never
    existed, those people who hunt
    us now would still be doing so.
    Of course, Cardassian efficiency
    would dearly love to eliminate
    us both at the same time. ​

    Nel chuckles, wryly amused at the very idea. Garak gazes at her in wonder.

    You have so much of both your
    mother and father in you... I
    feel so...​

    You loved my father, didn’t you?
    Obviously I know you loved my
    mother... but him too. ​

    ...Yes. ​

    Nel turns to Cronal, as if pondering a hypothetical.

    Has it ever occurred to you,
    Cronal, that we seek out that
    person who... how shall I say
    this... gives us our death? ​

    There are precedents in nature.
    The balteen, at the end of its
    cycle, offers itself at the
    lair of its greatest predator.
    Even Garak’s pet regnar chooses
    its time. ​

    Nel turns back to Garak, smiling and clapping with glee.

    Mila! Your tiny lizard friend
    at Bamarren Institute, named
    after your mother. ​

    What don’t you know about me? ​

    It’s only information. ​

    My father would have disagreed. ​

    But he waited for you, before
    he died. Just like the regnar. ​

    Garak cannot breathe – Nel is saying all the things he has never dared to admit to himself. Nel seems to understand.

    My father had been looking for
    the person who would give him
    his death. He also chose you
    for that moment. ​

    Men who want to lead are often
    conflicted. Does one have a
    calling? Or merely a lust for
    power? And if it is a calling,
    how does one answer? ​


    At the cocktail party, Bashir hands Garak the padd with the vaccine information it, urging Garak onwards...


    Garak looks at Nel in wonder...

    You know about the Vinculum. ​

    Of course we know. It’s a great
    gift, Elim. A source of wisdom
    few are allowed to experience...
    and be able to return and share.
    And surely you must know by now
    the reason you were sent there. ​

    Garak looks back at her blankly. She chuckles again, amused and exasperated at his naivety.

    Before an ancient Hebitian
    could be appointed as leader,
    he had to make a pilgrimage to
    it. The Vinculum is a place
    where the living and the dead
    find common ground. After all,
    unless you’ve made your peace
    with the dead, how can you
    lead the living? ​

    I don’t understand...​

    You made the pilgrimage, Elim.
    You have been called. ​

    If that’s the case, why would a
    human – Julian Bashir – be the
    one to encourage me to lead the
    Reunion Project? Shouldn’t that
    message – that call – have come
    from one of our own? ​

    Are you sure it was really him? ​

    Once again, Garak has the breath knocked out of him.

    But... why – ​

    Elim, you’re an extraordinary
    person. You’re also a stubborn
    one. Perhaps you received the
    information from someone who
    appeared to be Julian Bashir
    because you wouldn’t accept
    it from anyone else. ​

    Then who was it? ​

    Only you can answer that. ​

    When I was in the Vinculum, your
    mother – or someone who appeared
    to be her – told me to save you. ​

    Am I in danger? ​

    I think we all are. ​

    Then you have to save us all. ​

    As Garak sits, gazing at the shifting patterns on the stone walls, trying to absorb what she’s telling him...


    Present. Garak is on the stage, looking out at the gathered Cardassians from all over the planet.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    And so I called for the speech.
    To attempt to reconcile all the
    scattered tribes of our world. ​

    The crowd is still, prepared to listen for the moment.

    My fellow Cardassians...​

    He trails off, looking at their faces, at the various groups still separate and distrustful.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    As I prepared to thank them for
    coming, urge them to lay aside
    their differences, the faces of
    the past intruded even more. In
    the Obsidian Order, we are taught
    to operate on two or more levels
    of conscious intent at once. The
    mind has complete control over
    each level. But I had no control
    over the imagery now flooding my
    mind. The speech I had wanted
    to give, the words of healing
    and hope... wouldn’t come. ​

    He is blank and emotionless, speaking without inflection.

    We’ve all gone mad. ​

    They all look up at him, confused...

    GARAK (cont)
    Or we’ve reached the final stage
    in our evolution, where we’ve
    outlived our reason for being
    here at all. Perhaps all that’s
    left is the final implosion. ​

    Some in the crowd don’t like this. They begin to shout and protest. Garak shouts over them...

    No no no no! Not your fault!
    You were only reacting to the
    circumstances that he created,
    and the injuries and insults
    that she committed. And every
    one of us is so wronged and
    insulted and inflicted with
    the deaths of those closest to
    us that we righteously believe
    we have the right to strike
    the last blow! ​

    Yes! We do! ​

    Alright. But let me ask you
    a serious question, my fellow
    long-suffering Cardassian. Have
    you thought about what this
    world will look like if you
    do strike the last blow?​

    Silence. They are actually thinking about what he said.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Suddenly I hated them. I hated
    them all. I hated what we had
    become. The best of us had
    already been sacrificed, and
    the sooner the end came for
    the rest of us the better. ​

    Garak looks down at them, sneering with his distaste.

    Think about it. It’s very simple.
    Whichever one of you does strike
    the last blow, imagine the satis-
    faction as you stand all alone
    in a wasteland of dead bodies.
    All the barbarity and madness
    of our civilization devolves on
    you. And at that point, all I
    can wish for you is that you
    have the strength to bury the
    rest of us. That is, if there’s
    a shred of decency left in you. ​

    The crowd is starting to respond, and they are not happy. On the stage behind him, Parmak murmurs a gentle warning.


    GARAK (v.o.)
    This was not the calling Nel had
    spoken of. I knew that. Perhaps
    it was exhaustion... perhaps I
    was seeking my death. But I was
    facing a reality that defied
    all political idealism... and
    it had finally driven me mad. ​

    The crowd boils over. The people surge forwards, ready to attack. Garak stands there, not caring anymore as they push towards him, baying for his blood...



  5. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:


    Where we left it. The crowd is fighting amongst themselves, but a significant number have targeted Garak himself.

    Death to Garak! Death to the traitors! ​

    Garak watches them approach, barely present. At the last he’s grabbed from behind by Parmak and quickly hustled out of the way. It’s not unlike when Jartek did the same for Ghemor. Will it have the same result? Garak doesn’t care.

    As what pitiful security there is futilely holds back the crowd, Parmak quickly drags Garak down behind the stage. There’s an old grate in the building walls that once led into a sewer. Parmak pulls it aside, drags Garak into the opening with him, and pulls it closed. They’ve escaped.


    A hidden square-cut passageway through the bowels of the city. Cold stone, damp walls, barely any light. Parmak and Garak dash along it.


    A door opens and Parmak shoves Garak through it. As Parmak makes sure the door is securely closed, Garak goes to take a seat at a table. He sits, and looks down at the table, not looking at the other people in the room.

    Sat behind a fairly large and ornate desk is PYTHAS. He sits in a primitive wheelchair, and his face is disfigured and warped – not with the disease like Palandine’s, but with burns from the original Dominion attack. His voice is calm and measured, despite the enormous pain he must be in.

    Standing behind him is LIMOR, Enabran Tain’s former aide as seen in 8x09 “A Stitch in Time.” Thin and wiry, the kind of man who barely ever moves or speaks, so that when he does, you know he has a purpose.

    What was that all about, Elim? ​

    I couldn’t give the speech. ​

    Obviously. ​

    I’m tired of them. They behave
    like children. ​

    So you scold them like children?
    Did you think that would bring
    them together? They’re afraid.​

    I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself. ​

    Garak looks up, still empty. Limor is staring back at him. The door opens again, and DEJAR enters (last seen 10x07 “Instinct”). She’s been listening to a comm chip in her ear, and reports to Pythas, as if Garak isn’t even there.

    It’s getting worse. The battle
    is raging throughout the Tarlak
    Sector. It seems the Directorate
    had planned on breaking up the
    rally in any event. Garak just
    made their task easier. ​

    Send the Paldar and Akleen units. ​

    That will exhaust our reserves. ​

    What else can we do, Dejar? Give
    them the coordinates and stay in
    touch. ​

    Dejar accepts the instructions and leaves the room again.

    How many more fires can we put
    out, Pythas? This happens every
    time. Whenever we make some kind
    of progress, negotiate a truce,
    a reconciliation... some act of
    violence destroys it all again. ​

    (quiet, sympathetic)
    He’s not wrong, Pythas. Mondrig
    is still out there somewhere,
    whipping up paranoia. And who
    can blame them for listening?
    There has to be a reason why so
    many have died, and Federation
    genocide makes as much sense
    as anything else. ​

    It’s a stalemate, Pythas. There’s
    no productivity, our resources
    are at a critical low – ​

    Yes, I know this, Elim. And the
    fact that you know it as well
    makes me wonder all the more
    why you weren’t able to control
    yourself and follow through with
    our plan to reconcile those
    groups out there. ​

    Because it’s futile. All you
    had to was look into their eyes.
    They want revenge, someone to
    blame. The thugs were waiting
    for the opening to attack us,
    Dejar said so herself. The only
    people who want reconciliation
    are the plague survivors, and
    who’s going to listen to them? ​

    Then what, Elim? You must have
    had something in mind when you
    delivered your lecture today. ​

    We have to contact the Federation. ​

    Nobody expected him to say that. In the silence that follows, Dejar re-enters the room again. She notices the awkward silence, but chooses not to break it. Finally, Pythas clears his throat.

    I quote you, Elim. It’s futile. ​

    Futile to return to the Vinculum,
    perhaps. For whatever reason,
    Doctor Bashir was not able to
    maintain our contact there. ​

    (patient, said
    it all before)
    If Bashir was ever there. ​

    Garak glares at him, but Parmak stands his ground. In the silence again, Dejar finally speaks.

    The Directorate is pinned down.
    They want to negotiate a truce
    that would let them return home. ​

    A truce. ​

    Kill them. ​

    No. They don’t need any martyrs.
    Keep them isolated. I want to
    talk to their commanders. ​

    Dejar nods her acceptance again, but before she can leave, Garak brings it back to his favourite topic. He’s a dog with a bone, and he won’t let it go.

    Maybe Bashir was never in the
    Vinculum. Maybe it was a dream.
    But the vaccine I came back
    with wasn’t a dream. Parmak and
    I have travelled this planet
    administering it, and it works. ​

    Again, I can’t deny what Garak
    is saying, Pythas. ​

    And the Federation approved our
    receiving the formula. Anyone
    who says that they would try
    to murder us all with disease
    doesn’t know them the way I do.
    If I can somehow explain to
    them what our present needs – ​

    Must I remind you, Elim, why
    Ghemor was assassinated? ​

    He was assassinated because he
    trusted the wrong people! ​

    Precisely. Mondrig wanted him
    dead because he was friendly
    towards the Federation. That’s
    part of the reason we rejected
    their support afterwards. If
    the Reunion Project formally
    allied with the Federation,
    what’s to stop the Directorate
    from allying with the Klingons
    or the Romulans in response?
    And then where would we be? ​

    What is to stop them doing that
    anyway? We cannot let fear of
    what they might do stop us from
    doing what we know is necessary. ​

    The risk is too great, Elim. To
    many of our people, Ghemor was
    a traitor for even speaking to
    the Federation, and for all we
    know it was one of our own
    people who killed him. ​

    Garak keeps quiet – he hasn’t told anyone the truth about that. Pythas continues, getting almost irate.

    PYTHAS (cont)
    And what are you going to do,
    Elim? Announce your departure
    for Earth with the intention of
    standing before the Federation
    Council, and leave us to face
    the reaction to your treachery? ​

    Pythas is making good points. Garak is a bit petulant about that. But he already has a plan. Quietly, confidently...

    No-one will know I’ve gone. ​

    Pythas goes quiet. His scarred face gazes at Garak.

    You’re serious about this. ​

    Yes. ​

    Fine. But when you turn up in
    Paris, who is not going to know
    you’re there? You’re no longer
    some anonymous operative in the
    Order. You’ve become the public
    face of the Reunion Project. ​

    No-one will know. ​

    Garak looks at Limor. The way the old man looks back at him implies he knows precisely what Garak is suggesting.

    How is Mindur Timot’s health
    these days? ​

    He’s well enough. But I’m not
    so sure about you, Garak. ​

    What’s this about? ​

    I believe Garak wants to go
    to Earth... as a hew-mon. ​

    That’s impossible. ​

    No. Pythas, do you remember when
    Entek abducted the Bajoran, Kira
    Nerys, and had her transformed
    into a Cardassian? ​

    Pythas looks back at him blankly. Limor takes pity.

    Timot devised and performed the
    procedure to make a member of
    one species appear as another.
    A Bajoran as a Cardassian... a
    Cardassian as a hew-mon. ​

    Was this done often? ​

    A number of occasions. But the
    procedure lacked... precision. ​

    I’ll tell that to Kira the next
    time I see her. ​

    But why would you want to take
    the chance, Elim? ​

    Because we’ve run out of other
    solutions, my friend. And if we
    don’t find one soon, you’ll be
    able to add Cardassians to the
    interplanetary list of extinct
    species. And because I made a
    promise to someone. ​

    And how would you explain your
    absence? ​

    After today’s behaviour? Easily. ​

    The room goes quiet as everyone ponders the idea, weighing up the pros and cons. Pythas looks to Limor and Dejar. Limor gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Pythas sighs.

    How would you present yourself? ​

    How else, Pythas? As a plain
    and simple tailor. ​



  6. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:

    28 EXT. SPACE

    In Earth orbit. The great mushroom-shaped Starbase hangs in space. But we’re looking at a shuttle that has just left the station, and is travelling down towards the planet.

    ATTENDANT (v.o.)
    Faded, hasn’t it? ​


    Bright and clean and advanced, a comfortable Federation passenger shuttle, filled with happy travellers sat in rows like a standard commercial airliner. We are looking out of one of the portholes towards the approaching planet.

    Then our POV turns in response to the voice speaking to us, and we see an ATTENDANT smiling down at us, as we sit in one of the rows. He noticed us gazing out of the window.

    GARAK (o.s.)
    Hmm? ​

    According to the accounts of the
    first astronauts, the intensity
    of the blue was almost too much
    to bear. But I think the more
    often you see it, the more you
    get used to it. ​

    GARAK (o.s.)
    Yes, I suppose so. ​

    We’ll be landing at Charles de
    Gaulle in just a few minutes,
    Monsieur Tranger. ​

    With a polite smile, the attendant moves on. Our POV moves back to the window. Reflected in the glass, superimposed over the planet, is a human face. Our focus shifts to look at the reflection...



    Our POV turns back to look at another smiling face - the affable and chatty older Cardassian surgeon TIMOT. He pulls off his surgical mask, and smiles with pride at his work.

    Now, Elim, relax. Everything
    has worked out fine. But before
    you look at yourself, just
    remember that humans have an
    entirely different sense of,
    how shall we say... physical
    attractiveness. Now I’ve taken
    as a model someone I’ve been
    assured is a perfectly average
    example of the human male. ​

    GARAK (o.s.)
    But what am I? There are so
    many types. ​

    Elim, with these humans, there
    is no such thing as a pure
    racial type. Regardless of how
    repellent the idea of mixing
    races is to us, on Earth any
    given mixture is possible...
    especially with the French. ​

    Friendly and cheerful, Timot turns away and grabs a mirror. He holds it up, but Garak doesn’t really want to look.

    Come now, my boy. You’re going
    to have look at your new face
    eventually. I’m eager to know
    what you think of my handiwork. ​

    Grudgingly, Garak looks closely at his reflection, and we finally see Garak’s new face clearly.

    Oh Mindur... where am I? ​

    You’re right here, my boy! But
    you look like Emile Tranger of
    Paris, France, Earth. Thankfully
    I’ve ironed out some of the
    kinks since I did this for Gul
    Dukat. You look marvellous! ​

    CUT TO:


    Among the surging crowds of humans and other species, Human-Garak emerges into the arrivals hall. He’s a little thrown by the sheer numbers of people rushing back and forth. He spots a name-card with his name, held by a young female chauffeur, MILA. Garak approaches her...

    Monsieur Tranger?
    (Garak nods)
    Please follow me. ​

    The chauffeuse turns away and leads Garak through the crowd. NOTE: This is the same actress who played Nel earlier, although Garak doesn’t seem to recognise that.

    I hope you don’t mind, Monsieur,
    but the fastest way into town
    is the Metro. I’ve arranged for
    your baggage to be picked up and
    delivered to your apartment. ​

    What is your name? ​

    Mila. ​

    Garak stops in the crowd, amazed. After a moment, Mila realizes Garak is not with her, and turns, surprised.

    Monsieur? Are you alright? ​

    Garak fumbles and fakes looking for something in his coat.

    Yes... for a moment, I thought
    I’d forgotten... ah, here it is.
    (awkward pause)
    We haven’t met before, have we?
    ...Perhaps it’s just that you
    remind me of someone. ​

    Giving him a curious look, Mila turns and carries on. Off balance, Garak follows through the throng as best he can.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Mila... the name of my mother.
    The name of my first pet, my
    first friend. And now, this
    strangely familiar young woman
    guiding me through the tumult
    of my first trip to Paris. I
    couldn’t believe how clumsy I
    was. It was as if I’d never
    known something unexpected to
    happen before. Political life
    had made me obvious and stupid. ​

    Under the above, Mila slices a straight line through the crowd with no problem. But following her, Garak is buffeted from all sides. A native Parisian man bumps into him in one direction, swearing at him MOS to get out of the way.

    As Garak gapes in astonishment he’s knocked again the other way by a woman with a baby carriage, who doesn’t bother to even acknowledge his existence. Realizing he needs to keep moving or be trampled, he chases after Mila as best he can.


    Mila and Human-Garak are now outside, standing by the taxi rank outside the shuttle port. The crowd are just as heavy and chaotic out here as inside. Garak is sweating and breathing in short gasps – even outside, the claustrophobia is kicking in. With one hand out to hail a taxi, Mila notices Garak’s distressed state.

    Do not worry, Monsieur. It’s the
    beginning of the holiday, and
    everyone wants to get away. ​

    A taxi finally stops for them – one of a line of individual pods that swing below a monorail track. The door opens and Mila clambers in. A little bemused, Garak follows her.


    Garak collapses into one of the seats, with Mila perched primly in another. The DRIVER looks through the partition.

    Votre destination? ​

    Menilmontant, s’il vous plaît.
    Près de la Gard du Nord. ​

    The driver pulls away, jerking Garak back into his seat. NOTE: the driver is played by the same actor as Cronal earlier, although again Garak doesn’t recognise him.

    Garak resettles into the seat, the air conditioning calming his claustrophobia. As they travel on, he looks out of the window at the city passing by. Mila stays quiet, trying not to look like she’s watching him.

    The city is a motley collection of old stone buildings and modern glass and metal constructions, seemingly totally random. And yet the people filling every square inch seem to be able to move through it all smoothly and easily. The golden sunlight makes the chaos seem warm and happy even. Garak watches all of this, intrigued and spellbound.

    It’s not how you remember it? ​

    Yes... for the most part. But
    I’m always surprised at how
    different it is from... some
    other places I’ve been. ​

    The Americans and Germans call
    us obstinate. They call Paris
    the ‘museum city,’ because we
    wouldn’t make the changes they
    have made to their cities. ​

    The driver turns in his seat and looks directly at Garak with piercing eyes. The taxi continues to drive itself.

    But they keep coming here, don’t
    they? And do you know why? ​

    Uh... because they like museums? ​

    Au contraire, m’sieur! They live
    in sterile boxes. But they don’t
    want to forget what real life
    is like. So they come and eat
    our real food and walk our real
    streets and begin to feel real
    feelings again. They remember
    what it is to be a human being!
    Why do you think the Federation
    chose us to build their centre? ​

    Uh... because they want to be
    in a real city? ​

    Voilà! ​

    Satisfied, the driver turns back to his job. A little baffled, Garak goes back to looking out of the window.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I remember you once describing
    the French to me, Doctor, as
    “different.” I saw that I was
    being introduced to a diehard
    culture that wasn’t featured
    in Federation propaganda. ​


    The taxi glides to a halt on its monorail, outside a block of apartments, housed in a fairly old building of classical Parisian design. Not exactly crumbling, but far from 24th Century Federation modern. The kind of place that you can imagine hasn’t changed in centuries.

    Garak clambers out of the taxi and gazes up at the building while Mila handles the fare. Then she joins him on the pavement and the taxi zooms off.

    Garak stands there, absorbing what to him is an astonishing experience. People just going about their lives. The sounds of children happily playing. Washing hanging out on lines. Neighbours greet neighbours with a warm kiss-kiss and chat openly about their day. Garak almost can’t handle it.


    Garak opens the door to enter the apartment, finding a room that suits the building’s outside perfectly. Wooden floors, white painted walls, wrought iron fittings, stucco in the corners. As Mila carries in his bags behind him, Garak goes to the already open window.


    There’s a courtyard in the centre of the apartment block. All the other apartments open onto it, and most of their windows are open too, allowing all their neighbours to see inside, into their lives. People go about their business in their apartments, enjoying each other’s company.

    Looking down to the ground several floors below, there’s children tossing a ball about among the plants and flowers. The delicious smells and happy sounds echo up to him.


    Garak is astonished at all of this. It’s almost enough to make him cry. He turns back to Mila, only see to see that she has been watching him closely. He clams up a little.

    Who arranged for these living
    quarters? ​

    Monsieur Sharib. I thought – ​

    I know who my contact is. I just
    want to know who he used as an
    intermediary. ​

    Ah – an estate agent, you mean. ​

    Yes, whatever you call it. ​

    I only know of Monsieur Sharib.
    His information is on the data
    padd, just there. He told me to
    tell you welcome, and he’ll be
    in touch. ​

    She points across the room to a sideboard, where a standard Starfleet data padd sits. Garak nods, trying to bring his jittery behaviour under control. Mila just waits politely.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I tried to repress my anger at
    my own ineptitude. I was losing
    my control. I had to be more
    careful. I knew that Mila was
    picking up everything. She was
    too good to be just a tourist
    guide. And she was too careful
    to reveal any kind of reaction
    to my ridiculous behaviour. ​

    Well... is there anything else,
    Monsieur? ​

    No. Thank you, Mila. You’ve been
    very kind. How do I find you...
    if I need you for some reason? ​

    That information is also on the padd. ​

    She gives him a sly smile, and leaves.

    Alone now, except for the sounds of life going on outside, Garak stands in the middle of the room, pondering. He looks around at all the old architecture, the old fittings. Opens his suitcase, begins to move things, organise his space.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Mila had said that the building
    was nearly five-hundred years
    old. A conservative estimate, I
    thought. Never in my life did I
    imagine I would be living in an
    alien culture’s ancient history.
    I wondered if I hadn’t died and
    been transported to some bizarre
    afterlife. ​

    Garak pauses in his thoughts...

    GARAK (v.o.)
    Then a more frightening question
    took shape. What if I had come
    to this place to die? What if
    this was me... seeking my death?
    A few days before I would have
    welcomed the thought, but now,
    with new hope on the horizon...​

    Shaking off the thought as ridiculous, Garak moves to the sideboard and picks up the Starfleet padd. He looks at its screen, which features a picture of BASHIR. Garak frowns at this, somewhat confused...

    Around him, the sounds of life, of conversations and food cooking and children playing, begin to grow louder. They echo, swirl, blend and separate. Garak looks up, confused.

    The walls of the apartment have begun to move. Patterns play over the surfaces, like in Nel’s basement hideout. Shapes form and dissolve. The entire apartment seems to be moving around him, flowing, circling.

    He looks back down to the padd in his hand, and it MELTS. The padd and the hand both flow like liquid, like a Dali painting. They are caught up in whatever is happening to the rest of the room.

    Garak is terrified. The noises and sights and colours swirl around him. The padd has become a tiny black hole, and everything orbits it before being inevitably sucked in.

    Garak finds himself bent into impossible shapes, his belly being sucked towards the black hole in front of him as his head tries to pull away. Eyes flared, confused, panicking.

    As all the room swirls tighter and tighter, disappearing into the ever growing black hole at its centre, Garak is the last to be pulled in. He has nothing to grab on to. He’s falling down the hole, like it or not.

    And then, he’s gone. The blackness is all there is.

    36 BLACK OUT

    Gradually, and slightly FADE UP...

    Until we recognise the face of Garak, gazing out at us. Not the human version, but the original Cardassian. The face is ghostly in the darkness, watching, confused but curious...

    What is going on here?



  7. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001


    FADE IN:

    37 ON GARAK

    ...in the darkness, watching, more confused and curious than afraid. Voices drift to him across the darkness...

    PYTHAS (o.s.)
    How would you present yourself? ​

    38 GARAK’S POV

    The shadows and nothingness form into the shapes of people standing or sitting – it is the meeting in the dark room after Garak’s breakdown at the rally. But the room itself has gone – it is just the people in the dark, replaying the last few moments of that conversation, unaware of anyone watching them. Garak, Parmak, Pythas, Dejar and Limor.

    How else, Pythas? As a plain
    and simple tailor. ​

    Pythas accepts with a sigh. Garak smiles, satisfied with the deal made. Parmak guides Garak to the door...

    Come along then, Elim. If you
    insist on going to Earth, I’ll
    find you some kind of... guide
    book or something. ​

    Garak lets himself be guided out, and then he’s gone. But the scene continues. Pythas, Limor and Dejar look among each other, none willing to say what they’re all thinking.

    What do we do with him? ​

    He can never come back. ​

    From Earth? ​

    At all. He’s no asset to us now. ​

    39 ON GARAK

    ...watching, listening, absorbing...

    40 GARAK’S POV

    The three Cardassians talk in the darkness...

    I’ll arrange it. ​

    I want him to live. ​

    I don’t understand. ​

    Let him live, Limor. Just as
    long as he never comes back. ​

    How can this be done? ​

    ...The Vinculum. ​

    Listen to me, Pythas. Garak has
    many enemies. It would be a
    simple matter to kill him. To
    spare his life is no solution.
    Nor is it mercy. His life has
    run its course! ​

    Pythas thinks about what Limor has said...

    41 ON GARAK


    42 GARAK’S POV

    Focusing on Pythas, as he ponders. He doesn’t speak out loud, but we HEAR his thoughts, ghostly and indistinct.

    PYTHAS (v.o.)
    He’s right. Elim is exhausted.
    He has no more resources to
    draw on. His inability to give
    the speech shows how depleted
    his morale is. Perhaps it would
    be a kindness to kill him. ​

    Garak’s focus shifts to Limor, tall and thin and cold.

    LIMOR (v.o.)
    This is the sentimentality that
    Enabran allowed into the Order,
    and that nearly destroyed us.
    I taught Pythas to be harder.
    But the chain of command must
    be preserved. So be it. ​

    Finally, Pythas makes his decision.

    Arrange it with Mindur Timot so
    that Elim goes to the Vinculum
    and never returns. Parmak assures
    me the controls are easy enough. ​

    Should we worry about Parmak? ​

    He’ll never find out, Dejar. Elim
    will disappear, and it will be
    revealed that he was assassinated
    while trying to make a deal with
    the Federation. I don’t think I
    have to explain to you how this
    will work to our advantage. ​

    I’ll arrange it with Timot. ​

    The scene over, the players fade back into the darkness.

    43 ON GARAK

    Sad, disappointed that his friends and compatriots could dispose of him so easily. After a moment, gentle light intrudes on the darkness, and Garak looks up to see...

    44 GARAK’S POV

    A full-length mirror now stands in front of him, revealing Garak’s own image, standing there in old, Hebitian-style dress. He gazes at himself, intrigued...

    Reflected in the mirror, Garak sees a door open in the darkness behind him. Bright light and cheerful sounds creep through it. He turns and walks towards the door. But at the threshold, he pauses and looks back over his shoulder...


    ...and sees his small shack, the only home he has now. The small cot he sleeps on, the primitive stove he cooks with. No mirror, but an ORALIAN MASK hanging on the wall.

    (to self)
    Is this a dream? ​

    Does it matter? ​

    Garak realizes with a start that Palandine sits calmly on his bed, having blended in to the point of invisibility. Now she stands and approaches him in the doorway.

    Really, Elim. Does it matter
    if this is a dream or reality?
    (re the shack)
    Because if you want to get out
    of here, you’re going to have to
    learn to live in both worlds. ​

    She walks past him into the bright light beyond the door, holds out her hand for him to follow. Lost in wonder and confusion, Garak takes her hand, and follows her into the light. But as they walk on, Palandine turns to smile at him, and it’s not Palandine anymore. It’s Nel...

    As Nel leads Garak by the hand into the light, shapes form out of it, as if Garak’s eyes are simply getting accustomed to the brightness that Cardassians instinctively dislike. Those shapes gradually resolve into...


    It’s a party, a pleasant gathering of seemingly hundreds of happy, civilized and friendly people. All Cardassian, but no sign of the militarism or arrogance one would expect from Cardassians. Because these are Hebitians.

    Garak looks around at the people mingling and chatting. Flowers bloom, chandeliers glitter, happy voices drift.

    Go ahead, Elim. Feel free. ​

    Garak steps into the crowd, tentative at first, not sure he should be here. But he wants to be one of these people. In the distance is a familiar face, laughing with friends.

    BASHIR turns, smiles in recognition. Beckons Garak to join him. Elated, Garak wades into the crowd. But the closer he gets, the further away Bashir seems to be...

    TOLAN (o.s.)
    Elim. I’m so glad you came. ​

    Surprised, Garak turns and sees TOLAN (“A Stitch in Time”), dressed in the robes of an Oralian Guide. Nel stands behind him, observing happily. Garak gapes in amazement.

    Father... I’ve missed you. ​

    The room around them changes again, almost imperceptibly. It darkens, the others disappearing, until the three of them are alone, standing in Nel’s basement hideout.


    The black stone walls shift and blend, shapes shimmering and not quite forming. Garak steps closer, watching the shapes as they begin to coalesce.

    They form a procession of figures. It’s the Hebitian frieze that was painted onto the walls of the Oralian temple in “A Stitch in Time,” but the figures are moving.

    We slowly ZOOM IN on the animated people, cave drawings of Cardassians, walking one behind another along a path. They all seem comfortable, content, in harmony. They are dressed as farmers, hunters, ironworkers, priests, and so on.

    The path loops gently around the walls of the room, until it disappears into the top corner. Garak watches the path re-emerge from the bottom corner, and continue.

    If they are able to understand
    how connected they are... if
    they can accept the connection...
    the tribes can come together...
    they can celebrate...​

    Garak watches the procession. The image shifts slightly, a ribbon appearing connected to each figure at the chest. A pinkish thread that leads from their heart up into the sky.

    We FOLLOW the pink thread from one Hebitian as it rises up. Slowly, slowly... until the thread reaches its source. A hand-drawn representation of ORALIUS.

    A winged figure, almost angelic, as seen on the paintings in the Oralian temple, and on the statue in the ruins at Gardat. The figure has countless similar pinkish threads leading out of its body, connecting to the people below.

    We are all connected, Elim. All
    of us. Oralius came to teach us
    this, help us to understand and
    celebrate that connection. ​

    Our focus moves to Oralius itself, wings spread wide. We close in on its semi-Cardassian face, seeming to smile with grace and love. And then we move closer, focusing on the indentation that adorns its forehead, like all Cardassians.

    And then the “spoon” shape... blinks. Like an eye.

    PULL OUT gradually - we see the indent has indeed become an eye. A large single eye, set into the face of an EAV’OQ.

    PULL OUT further - we see the Eav’oq’s body, white and warm, gently soothing, the single eye smiling.

    Garak watches all of this, on the verge of understanding. He has never seen an Eav’oq, doesn’t know what one is. He just sees this strange alien figure, hovering peacefully over the Hebitians below. He smiles, comforted.

    The Hebitians are now closer to the Eav’oq, gathered around it. The pink ribbons thicken and strengthen, until it becomes clear that they are the Eav’oq figure’s multiple limbs. They curl around the Hebitians, as if hugging them.

    And he was right to. Because...
    watch, Elim. Watch what happens
    when the connection breaks. ​

    The procession of figures continues. But one or two of them stumble, fall to their knees. The happy, peaceful feeling gives way to grey dullness. More Hebitian figures collapse in hunger or fatigue or choking. Garak watches in horror...

    New figures arrive, dressed in black, carrying knives and guns. They attack the weakened Hebitians, laugh over their dead bodies. These are Cardassians, dark and ominous.

    Above, the Eav’oq still hovers. Its pink ribbons are now snapped, the connections broken, its eye no longer smiling. It draws away, the image diminishing and growing smaller, pulling back until it is a mere dot... and then gone.

    No... come back... please...​

    He will, Elim. Oralius... is of
    Cardassia. You are of Cardassia.
    You are the Hand of the Fates.
    Bring Oralius back to them. ​

    Garak turns away, tears in his eyes...


    ...and finds himself back in the shack. Tolan is with him, as he was in “A Stitch in Time,” showing him his gardening tools. Outside, it’s normal daylight, before the Dominion. Inside, it’s a boy and his father.

    Are you still working with the
    orchids, Elim? ​

    Not for a long time. ​

    Cultivate what’s left. And teach
    someone else the method. ​

    I will. ​

    Tolan smiles up at the wall, where the Oralian mask hangs.

    You still have the mask! Wear
    it next time you speak, Elim.
    It will help to remind them. ​

    Tolan stands directly in front of Garak, reaches out gently and touches his son’s forehead, right on the spoon shape. Then the older man FADES from view, until he’s gone.

    Garak looks at the Oralian mask. It begins to GLOW with a warm, gentle white light. The mask seems to move, smile. Pink ribbons stretch out from all sides of it, reaching to make a connection. The light grows and grows until...


    Then FADE IN to...

    49 PARMAK

    ...Looking into camera, concerned and nervous.

    Elim? Can you hear me? ​


    Garak lies on a thin, rattling pallet in a small and ordinary room – nicer than Garak’s shack, but not by much. He opens his eyes hesitantly, as if recovering from a hangover or psychedelic experience.

    Yes, Doctor. No need to shout.
    Where am I? ​

    An old family home. But... What
    happened to you, Elim? And how
    did they know to bring you here? ​

    Garak sits up, wincing at the pain behind his eyes.

    They? Who are they? ​

    I have no idea. A young woman
    and an older man. I’d never seen
    either of them before. But they
    told me there was a situation
    involving you, and somehow they
    knew this house was deserted.
    They made it very clear that I
    wasn’t to tell anyone you were
    back. What happened on Earth? ​

    Yes... Earth... ​

    Garak climbs slowly off the pallet and stands, testing his limbs, stretching out his fingers. He feels the ridges on his face and neck, as if confirming that he is Cardassian. He looks up at Parmak, smiles. He seems happier and more energised than he has in months.

    Never mind about that. What
    matters is that I’m here now.
    At long last. And we have
    much work to do. ​

    We have? ​

    Garak smiles affectionately at Parmak’s confusion.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I looked at him, wondering how
    I could ever explain. Parmak is
    a man of science, Doctor, like
    yourself. He believes that we
    can reconstruct a society based
    on a purely rational model. I
    had believed that myself, before.
    I had thought that was the very
    message you had been trying to
    give me when we met in the
    Vinculum – that you represented
    the Federation, giving me their
    blessing to lead Cardassia in a
    new era of rationality. But I
    understood now that I was wrong. ​

    Oh yes, my friend. It’s about
    the connection, you see. That’s
    what’s important. ​

    All very mysterious, I must say.
    Perhaps I should contact Pythas – ​

    No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.
    No Cardassian, anyway. However,
    I would like to send a message
    to your Federation contact. ​

    Parmak’s eyes go wide, his mouth drops in shock.

    How... did you know...​

    That you’re still in contact
    with Yevir? I know, Doctor. ​

    You were the one who convinced
    me we could work together with
    the Bajorans, Elim. I hope you
    understand, I meant no...​

    I do understand, my friend. I
    know you were the one who helped
    smuggle the Vedek off Cardassia
    and back to Bajor, despite the
    quarantine. And I’m glad. ​

    I only didn’t tell you because – ​

    Because you were afraid to tell
    anyone, I understand. Now I need
    you to get a message to him. And
    from him, on to someone else.
    But them only. No-one else must
    know I’m here. Can you do that? ​

    But surely Pythas – ​

    No-one. It’s also vital that I
    find a way to Lakarian City as
    quickly and quietly as possible. ​

    (what now?)

    There’s much work to do, yes.
    But more importantly, it’s work
    that we’ve never done before.
    Or not for a long time, anyway. ​

    Parmak nods, not having the tiniest idea what Garak is going on about but trusting his friend.

  8. lvsxy808

    lvsxy808 Rear Admiral Rear Admiral

    Jun 29, 2001
    Act Five continued:


    Garak stands again in the darkness, feeling the ancient and pliable black stone of the Citadel. The Blind Moon peeks out from behind the clouds, casting a ray of silver light.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    So that’s how I began my new
    mission, Doctor. Not as some
    political leader standing on
    the galactic stage as the
    respectable face of the new
    democratic Cardassia. But as
    the Hand of the Fates, trying
    to rebuild the links between
    us, helping us to understand
    that we are connected, however
    much we try to deny it. ​


    The deserted streets of the old city. Our POV travels slowly down them, seeing the numerous dead apartments crammed in tight.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    It’s strange – I feel the need
    to apologise for breaking our
    initial agreement, even though
    I misunderstood it at first,
    and it was not even really you
    whom I made it with. But I do
    hope you won’t be offended that
    that agreement has now been
    superseded by another. ​

    As we get to one apartment in particular, we see a candle shining in its window. One singular spark of light in the dark, deserted streets.

    We slowly CROSS-FADE INTO...

    53 EXT. BAJOR - DAY

    One of the standard establishing shots of the surface of Bajor, bright and sunny and peaceful.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    I’ve tried my best to explain as
    clearly as I am able everything
    I experienced, and the effect
    it has had on me. It’s entirely
    possible I failed on that score.
    I’m not at all sure I understand
    it myself yet. ​


    The same office seen in 8x20 “Twist of Faith.” YEVIR sits behind his desk, in an outfit rather simpler than the usual elaborate Vedek’s robes. The jevonite figurine has pride of place on his desk. He’s reading from a Bajoran padd.

    GARAK (v.o.)
    But if you find anything of use
    in it, I’m glad. I just wanted
    you to know. After all... we
    are connected, you and I. And
    as much as I can’t help worry
    that you’re safe, I think I’d
    know, deep down, if you were
    not. If you have any need to
    contact me, you know how. In
    the meantime I send my warmest
    regards. Be well, Doctor. ​

    Having finished reading, Yevir places the padd back onto his desk and sits back. It’s all running through his mind, and he’s trying to process it. He’s absolutely amazed. He reaches out and picks up the jevonite figurine, traces the Cardassian neck ridges, the Bajoran nose lines.

    We’re all connected...​

    He places the figurine back down and calls out.

    Mika? Mika! ​

    A young woman opens the door and enters. It’s MIKA, the former pagh-Wraith cultist and current Ohalavar, last seen in “Twist of Faith.” She is working as Yevir’s assistant.

    Vedek – is there a problem? ​

    I need you to arrange for a
    secure delivery to Deep Space
    Nine – I have an important
    message I need to pass along. ​

    Yes, Vedek. Is that everything? ​

    No. Contact the monastery at
    Ashalla. I need to speak with
    your uncle as soon as possible. ​

    My uncle? The Kai? ​

    Yes, Mika. While you’re at it,
    send a message via the station
    into the Gamma Quadrant. Ranjen
    Opaka should hear this too. ​

    Hear what, Vedek? ​

    Oh, Mika... we are connected.
    Connected, Mika! ...Go. ​

    Mika nods and leaves the room. Yevir sits back, full of wonder and revelation at what he’s figured out...